


Right Hand Man

by NurseMedusa



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aaron Burr vs a literal Rock, Alexander Hamilton can't use his Alexander Handilton, Alexander and Burr both survive the duel, Alternate Universe, Bad Aim Burr AU, Bad Puns, Because I refuse to continue researching which hand was his dominant hand for a fanfiction, Depression, Drinking, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Maybe - Freeform, More tags to be added, Mostly in the title tho, Nightmares, PTSD, Partial paralysis, Physically speaking, Post-Duel, Right Handed Alexander Hamilton, That's an AU that I literally made up just for this, There's too many tags here, Thomas Jefferson is a jerk, Why am I writing fanfiction for the founding fathers, and a troll, blood/gore, bullet wounds, oh no
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 11:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9720872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseMedusa/pseuds/NurseMedusa
Summary: Burr knew he was a terrible shot.  It was almost a miracle that he hit Alex at all.Though, he wouldn't classify anything that happened after his and Hamilton's duel as a miracle.





	

**Author's Note:**

> After I got into Hamilton, writing this was only a matter of time.

_ One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine,  _ **_TEN!_ **

**_“WAIT!”_ ** Burr screamed.  Time seemed to freeze as two bullets flew through the air, one up into the sky and the other barreling towards Hamilton.  Aaron reached forward, dropping his pistol to the ground as the bullet dug into Alexander’s arm, his cries piercing the air while his blood spilled onto the bright green grass, illuminated by the sunrise.  In a single moment Aaron had thought of millions of things to do in response, but he did none of them, completely petrified in shock.

_ He had shot Hamilton. _

Sure, that might have seemed like a good idea, and it was even the goal of their dual, but he hadn’t wanted  _ this _ .  A look of pure agony was on Alexander’s face while the doctor he had hired quickly began his work to stop the bleeding.  Taking a hesitant step forward, Aaron attempted to approach Alexander, but he was silently ushered away by his second while Alex’s did what he could to help the doctor.  Aaron slowly bent down, he gripped the pistol tightly, it now feeling infinitely heavier than it had earlier, and turned to leave the field.

He needed a strong drink.

 

_ ~~~ _

 

**_“WAIT!”_ ** His ears were ringing, his vision was blurred, all while bursts of pain flared up and down his arm, screaming at him to do something.  All of his senses had dulled, making way for him to feel every flash of pain and every drop of blood that dripped out.  He couldn’t feel his hand and  _ oh god there was so much blood spilling onto the ground _ .  Time passed in a haze, almost as if the world around him was moving infinitely faster than he was.  Before he knew it, he was being rowed across the Hudson all while people wrapped his arm.

_ Had Burr abandoned him?  Did his first friend leave him for dead? _

His vision was swimming as he struggled to stay conscious while several people swarmed around him, placing him onto a cot.  Muffled voices shouted back and forth, though none of what they were saying was distinguishable.  The world continued to slowly fade further and further away as all the adrenalin built up from the duel finally began to wear off, letting him rest.

 

_ ~~~ _

 

Burr couldn’t stand the thought of what he had done.  Looking back on it, the fight had been rather petty and the entire duel could’ve been avoided had he just been mature about the ordeal.

Now, instead, he lay awake, pondering what had happened.

Regrets don’t turn back time.  No matter how much he regretted shooting Hamilton, he couldn’t undo what he had done.  He had done it.  He shot Alexander Hamilton.

Aaron sat up slowly, staring out the window next to him.  Whispers and rumors circled all across New York in the span of a single afternoon, stories varying on how hurt Alexander was.

Some even said that he bled out on the trip back across the Hudson.

He didn’t want that to be the case.  That couldn’t be the case.  Aaron refused to believe that Alexander fucking Hamilton, the stubborn man couldn’t be stopped by something as simple as blood loss.  Alexander would stay alive after losing every drop of blood in his body just to prove that he could and so that he could die in a totally ridiculous, while albeit amazing, way.  That man refused to live by anyone’s rules, so one could figure that he would die on his own terms as well.

However, those thoughts didn’t stop the nightmares.

Aaron knew that the second he tried to go to sleep he would be plagued with them.  He knew that everything about the event, from his gun to Alex’s piercing screams, would probably haunt him to his grave.  In a way, even if Alex had died on a boat or once he got to the hospital, he would still live on in Burr’s mind, tormenting him everytime he dared close his eyes.

Sighing, Aaron laid back down on his bed, unbearably tired yet dreading the thought of sleep, he closed his eyes anyway, praying that Alex was okay.

 

_ ~~~ _

 

Loud chatter and cheerful music filled the air.  Aaron looked around to see a small pub behind him.  Figuring it was the source of the noise, he walked inside.  Everything he had expected to see was there, men in groups at the tables scattered throughout the tavern, drinking the night away with friends, laughing and talking amongst themselves.  Workers flew from one tale to the next, passing mugs around all while collecting empty ones.  Someone in the back was playing an unidentifiable song on a piano, which some of the more drunk patrons attempted to sing along to.

“Well, if it isn’t Aaron Burr, sir!” A familiar voice declared.  Aaron turned around to see a familiar sight, a group of his closest friends gathered around a table, sharing drinks and stories in the late evening.  Alexander stood at the center of it all, recounting some crazy event that had happened a few weeks back.

“Looks like the gang’s all here,” he said, glancing around at the table.

“Now they are, you took your sweet time getting here, Burr,” Lafayette declared, passing a mug to him.

“These morons were about to start writing your obituary if you had taken any longer to show up,” Mulligan said.  Aaron laughed at how over dramatic Laurens and Hamilton could be.

So, what’d I miss?” He asked.

“Nothing much, Alex here was just telling us how you killed him,” Laurens answered, taking a drink.

“Wait, what..?” The music stopped, the entire room was dead silent.  Everyone turned to face their small table in the corner.  Aaron could feel his heart practically beating out of his chest as his mind screamed at him to run.

“You surprise me, Burr.  First you shoot me and leave me to die and then you hide, cover the whole thing up and run away, just like the coward you are,” Hamilton stated.  Aaron shot out of his seat, knocking a mug on the edge of the table over.  A thick, crimson liquid poured out of it, spilling into a puddle on the ground.  Looking up, the room had darkened and several of the men who had previously been in the pub had suddenly vanished into thin air. “I mean, let’s be honest, you’re nothing more than a pathetic coward, Burr,” Hamilton continued, “only someone so unsure of himself would constantly hide who they really are and what they really believe just to get a bit further ahead, only a coward would blame another man for his own faults and then shoot that man in cold blood.  I was right, you stand for nothing and when you fall you simply blame someone else for it.” Aaron raced across the room, tugging at the door, trying to escape. “And here you are, once again trying to run away from your problems,” Hamilton walked up to him, standing inches away from his face.

“Stop it!  Get away from me!” Aaron screamed, trying to push him away.  Hamilton smiled.

"You can't run away from the truth, Burr."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Why did I write this


End file.
